I won't dance
by shirewalker
Summary: Zoya and Harshaw are representatives of Ravka at a formal event but Harshaw fails to live up to Zoya's attire expectation


_I won't dance, don't ask me_  
 _I won't dance, don't ask me_

 _(...)_

 _I know that music leads the way to romance_  
 _So if I hold you in my arms I won't dance_

 _\- I won't Dance by Frank Sinatra_

* * *

Harshaw is late. And Zoya is mildly annoyed at this.

The two grisha are representatives of King Nikolai at a party held by one of the many ravkan diplomats. The King can't really attend all of the parties he's invited to, so the task to make an appearance falls on random victims. This time, it's Zoya, who is excited for such an event and a chance to dress the finest of gowns, and… Harshaw, the inferni who talks to cats. _Of course_ Zoya had to end up with him. And he is late.

He. Is—

"Sorry, I got delayed by some ghests"

Startled, Zoya turns on her spot as the damned man appears right next to her.

"SAINTS! What is wrong with you?!" she hisses. Harshaw, unaffected by her tone, only shrugs and says sorry again, although she feels like this time he isn't fully sincere and she could swear she saw the corner of his lips turn up just a little bit. The bastard.

After recovering her composure, the squaller decides to take a good look at him. She's surprised to find him finely dressed, quickly noting how he's wearing the outfit she requested for him, everything correctly dressed and, amazingly enough, it's all a perfect fit. Perhaps _too_ perfect, since he looks slightly more attractive than he usually does. She quickly berates herself for thinking such things and is about to tell him about his success when her eyes fall on his feet, or rather, on what he is wearing.

"Is that—Are… Are those…" she clears her throat "Are those… COMBAT BOOTS?!" It takes all her effort not to scream at the red head in front of her, keeping her voice in hushed, but murderous, tones.

"What?" Harshaw's confused face only worsens her mood.

"What? WHAT? This is a FORMAL event! Didn't that lovely suit of yours bring a pair of perfectly acceptable FORMAL shoes with it?" she gestures at his whole body before pointing her accusatory finger at his feet.

"Oh. These? They're my best pair" another shrug, this time accompanied by a sheepish, more obvious, smile.

"And. What. About. The. Other. Shoes?" she pointedly stabs her finger on his chest with every word.

He simply lifts his hands in surrender before continuing "Oncat didn't like them"

Of course. Of course Harshaw would decide his outfit with his bloody cat. OF COURSE!

She huffs in anger before turning her attention to the ballroom.

The party is in full bloom and as the band begins another tune Zoya can see several ladies, single and not so single, young and not so young measuring her companion. A surge of anger appears in the pit of her stomach at the sight. Why on earth are all these women ogling Harshaw? Her stomach twists at the idea of other women finding him interesting. Confused at this turn of events, Zoya busies herself with trying to shove all these… these… these thoughts of… something… deep deep down. There is no way that she'd ever feel something other than spite or annoyance towards the inferni.

She's still deep in thought when Harshaw turns to her offering his hand. Confused and lost in thought, Zoya looks from his hand to his face several times while trying to understand the gesture.

"Shall we dance?" he offers.

"Wha—No!" another twist in her stomach, this time more like a light fluttering, as if she had a kaleidoscope of butterflies inside her. She blushes slightly at the preposterous idea and tries to focus on the party once more while ignoring him.

"Why not?" Harshaw insists "It's a party, there's music and we're supposed to make a good appearance. Aren't we?"

"I'm not dancing with _you_. Especially when you're wearing those horrible boots. You might stomp my foot or something" And that is a perfectly acceptable and sane reason, she tells herself. It's the real reason why she says no.

Harshaw just snorts in response, all along still holding his hand to her. "Come on Zoya, lets dance, I promise to take it easy on you"

She denies again. She's Zoya Nazyalensky, she's not about to dance with… Harshaw, who talks with cats and thinks playing with fire is perfectly safe.

However, in spite of her refusals Zoya finds herself, somehow, dancing with him.

"I hate you" she grumbles. His posture remains unchanged, making it impossible to tell whether Harshaw heard her or not.

After a while Zoya is musing about how Harshaw hasn't stepped on her at all and how he knows perfectly well when to turn and twirl her. She's surprised at his ability to do something as delicate and controlled as dancing. Turns out the madman in front of her has some interesting talents. She absentmindedly smiles at the revelation, unaware of his attention on her.

"Hmm. I like it when you smile" he says after a while, catching her off guard.

Was she smiling? Because of the dance? Because of _him_?

"You look cute" he continues, despite her baffled expression.

Zoya schools her features into an expression of disdain claiming that she isn't cute. Zoya is not cute, she's at the very least, beautiful. Cute? Hah! Not now, not ever!

Harshaw scoffs "Sure, whatever you say Nazyalensky, whatever you say"

The song eventually comes to and end and the pair goes back to their spot. Harshaw doesn't stay close for long, as many ladies come to him batting their eyelashes and not so subtly asking him to dance. A smiling Harshaw is happy to oblige and without a word he leaves her side to dance away.

As the night wears on Zoya can't help but start fuming about this chain of events, not understanding how the women in this party can find him so interesting and ignoring the fluttering in her stomach whenever he catches her eyes. That damned fluttering again! Is she getting sick? What is wrong with her tonight?

* * *

"So, it was a fun party after all, wasn't it?" Harshaw wonders as they approach their rooms. His formal jacket all unbuttoned and his tie hanging on his shoulder. What a mess he is.

"I suppose it was" she replies, keeping her tone was detached as possible.

"You weren't such a bad company after all"

"And... you weren't such a bad dancer…" she concedes.

Harshaw chuckles before stopping by his door "Goodnight Zoya"

"Goodnight Harshaw" she's about to enter her own room when she remembers another thing "And please, next time we have such an event, please try to bring a cleaner pair of shoes. And stop taking fashion advice from a cat" she says, trying to convey to him that taking fashion advice from a cat is an insane idea.

Harsahw is about to close his door when he replies with a light bow of his head "As you wish"

Left alone in the corridor with nothing but a fluttering stomach, Zoya stares at his door gawping at his choice of words. Shaking her head, doing her best to ignore what hidden meanings might be behind those words, she eventually retreats to her room, decided to shut Harshaw and all the events and feelings of the the night out of her mind for the time being.


End file.
